


For You, It's a Road

by takenbythewater (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fallen Castiel, M/M, Other, Post Season/Series 08 Finale, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/takenbythewater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the closest you can get to paradise is a phone call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For You, It's a Road

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd and likely full of mistakes.

      Hollow is something that only bird bones and rotting trees were intended to be. Not stars, not light or sound or intent they're just not supposed to be.

     But he is now. There is no other word for the emptiness as he watches the sky, alight with his kin. Is this atonement? Is this how it was all meant to close?

     He cannot find the anger, the divine taste of righteous wrath. It was ripped from him. He wants to scream, tear his throat open with it, but he cannot find his voice.

_I'm sorry!_ If only he could pin them back to the sky like butterflies under glass. Their names, all of them, _Zuriel, Sandalphon, The singer Israfel..._

     His chest tightens painfully and he finally opens himself to the air. He is reluctant in inhaling, if only because his body has dominion now.

     Holding his breath forever seems like a much better idea.

     His eyes sting, and he knows that he is weeping.

     Time is lost to him also, as he wanders. Through a field first, then out to the road. Low branches snag on his skin and draw out beads of blood that do not disappear.

     “You an astronomer or something?” It's a low voice, an angry voice, and he jumps at the sound.

     He must've been standing along the side of the road for quite some time. Long enough for an old, red car to travel from that distant spot on the horizon and pull over at his side.

    The voice belongs to a woman with dark hair and darker eyes who is impatiently drumming her fingers on the driver's side door. She looks more bored than anything else and there's a french fry in her other hand.

     “Yes,” he lies, and it's only half a lie. He had infinite knowledge of the heavens. All of them did. “ I am.” She raises a skeptical eyebrow.

     “Hell of a meteor shower we had,” a pause “you alright? You seem a little lost.”

     A little. Just a little. He is infinitely lost.

     “I-” _when humans want something really bad_ , “I drove out here when the first started to fall,” The woman looks around for a car, it's like she can tell, “My car broke down a few miles from here.”

     “I don't know what to tell you, pal,” She shrugs, “No service stations around here, unless you want to go for a little hike.”

     It doesn't take much effort to get some sympathy.

     “What, did someone take your puppy, too?" It occurs to him that she's laughing at him, not unkindly however. “Jeez, fine I guess I can give you a ride then, Miss Daisy.”

    He's about to tell her that his name isn't Daisy and he isn't a miss, but thinks better of it when she flings the passenger's side door open. He climbs into the seat offered to him.

     “What's your name, by the way?”

     The question catches him off guard and this feeling must be what Dean meant when he complained that his head was spinning.

     “Cas,” he decides “Just Cas.” There's a flicker of something in the woman's eyes, suspicion certainly, but perhaps pity as well.

     “I'm Rose, now where to? I don't think my girl would appreciate me bringing a stranger home.”

_Home,_ he thinks, t _ake me to Dean Winchester_ , but he doesn't say it.

     “There's a motel back on the highway, I can drop you off there.” Rose nods, answering her own question.

     She turns the key in the ignition and turns the volume up. Apparently a woman named Joan Jett likes to play with fire, just as much as Rose likes to sing along. Cas keeps his focus on the road ahead and tries so very hard not to remember the hum of his brothers and sisters, a constant, even if it was not always a comfort. His eyelids grow heavy and the rest of the drive passes quickly.

     Even though he is not truly asleep, Rose sees it fit to shake him by the shoulder. He thanks her when she pulls into the lot and drags himself into the lobby. The neon sign, all aglow in pink and decidedly obnoxious, reads “Paradise Motel”

     Castiel can't help but be just a little offended.

    It's June now, or so says the lopsided calendar adorned with a photograph of an equally lopsided rabbit, lounging in the grass. As a tall man with his tie askew and sleepy, cat-like eyes, comes to greet him. The trench coat's pockets are empty, there's no chance of him being able to stay the night here.

     “Could I use your phone?” The man's eyes widen and Cas' own must as well. He just sounds so tired, so ruined.

     “Yeah, sure man, whatever you need.”

     It's in his hand faster than he can comprehend right now, and he goes to stand beside the rack of brochures in the corner. He remembers the number, but he hesitates on each digit, repeating it over and over in his head before he finally gets through and raises the phone to his ear.

     He doesn't even know if they're alive, _ring_ , they could be gone, _ring_ , is his new heart so weak that it's already failing?

     “Who's this?” _Oh_ it sounds the same, if not a little roughened by sleep.

    “Dean?” it comes out a question, but he's sure, he is, “this is-it's me.” Tears are streaming down his face, and it burns so white hot he doesn't know how humans can tolerate it.

     “The fuck do you think you're playing at?” Cas flinches at the rage in his voice, “This isn't funny, this is sick!” He must still be furious with him for leaving, for everything he's done. Cas' breathing goes unsteady and it's all just too much. Guilt is heavy, he discovers as his knees threaten to buckle.

      “Dean please,” he whispers, “remember what you told me?”

     “I'm going to send you to hell, you sweater-vested fuck,” Castiel isn't sure whether it's the rancor or the grief in his voice that hurts him more. He hasn't hung up yet.

     “I need you, too.” and he is well aware that he is pleading, here in a beaten down motel full of beaten down people, but he doesn't care. “ You are my friend and I...”

      “Cas, goddammit you can't just-” Dean gasps it out, and Cas can hear him swallow thickly on the other end. “ I'll come get you, okay? Just tell me where you are.”

     He doesn't know, he doesn't have the slightest clue where he is and suddenly this lobby is too small and he _hurts_. “ The Paradise Motel, it's...it's in The United States and I cannot think of a more ill-fitting name.” Castiel inhales sharply, grinds his teeth to keep himself from screaming.

     “Cas? It's okay, It's alright I'll just look up the area code.”

     “Thank you, Dean, I-”

     “ Hey, don't thank thank me, I'm still thinking about kicking your ass for fuckin' off like that.” The laughter that follows is frantic and strained.

     “I'm sorry.”

    “Stop fucking saying that, you just scared the shit out of me, that's all.”

   “Sor-”

    “ Cas, I swear.” he sighs heavily, “ Just hang tight, okay?” Cas nods before he realizes that he needs to respond verbally.

     “Yes.”

      “We're gonna have one hell of a chat when you get home.”

      “I know,” _Home._ It sounds lovely to say, but he isn't sure that 'home' is something he has. He knows Dean would correct him on that, this alone is enough, “ How is Sam?”

     “ Better, pissed off, but better. I'm getting in the car, Cas.”

     “ You should hang up. Distracted driving is dangerous.”

     Dean smiles in spite of himself, getting ready to drive off to the paradise of bumfuck nowhere.

     “Sure thing.”

     The conversation is over, but the two men still hope the other will say something, just fill the empty space.

     “I've missed you.” The man, because that is what he is now, currently standing in the far corner of a motel lobby, is the one to do so. He turns his head, acutely aware that he is being watched. The young man at the counter is trying to busy himself by shuffling papers behind the counter, but his eyes are red.

     “That's not gonna last long, buddy. You're not getting out of my sight until we iron all this out.” Or ever again, would be a more accurate statement, but this is a different story. “Just hang tight, like I said, I'll see you soon.”

     Even though the tell-tale click signals that Dean has taken his driving advice, Cas has one more thing to say. Whisper quiet, he says to empty space:

     “I love you.”


End file.
